


Ghost Stories

by misura



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Chaucer tells a ghost story. Neither Will nor Kate is the least bit scared at all. Honestly.





	Ghost Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Major](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Major/gifts).



" - and so their damned souls, to these very days, haunt these woods," Chaucer finished, voice lowered to a whisper for better effect.

William swallowed. _Theatrics,_ he told himself. _Showmanship._

Wat's face was white. "P-pain!" he squeaked. "You! Fonging! Blood!"

"Or so it said, anyway," said Chaucer, voice back to normal. "Perhaps it is no more than a story, meant to entertain and instruct, to liven up an otherwise boring evening. Who can tell?"

"Aye," said Roland. "Who can tell, eh? So what say you lot we just pack up now and keep going? Got a nice full moon tonight, eh? Plenty of light."

"Isn't that when the ghosts come out? During the full moon?" Kate asked. Her hands were balled into fists. Any ghost foolish enough to attack Kate, William thought, would discover to its regret the strength held by a woman used to pounding metal into shape.

Chaucer smiled. "You're thinking of werewolves."

"Am I? How silly of me."

"Not at all," Chaucer said. "And regardless, I see no reason why we should have anything to fear. Why, our very own Wat here is as close in ferocity to a werewolf as anyone I ever met."

Wat held up a fist. His arm trembled.

Chaucer's smiled broadened. William readied himself for an intervention, although in fairness, he felt there had been ample provocation this time to justify Wat's feelings.

"A compliment, surely," Chaucer said, raising his hands. "Peace, I beg you."

"Oh, I'll be giving you peace all right, see if I won't," said Wat. "How's eternal peace sound, then?"

"A poor substitute for a good night's sleep, which I intend to get." Chaucer rose slowly, as if Wat were a wild, maddened animal and he a wary, cautious man. "You're free to join me, should my story have left you too fearful to sleep alone."

Kate snorted. William sighed. "Wat, leave him be. Chaucer, stop provoking him."

"Oh, I am sorry," Chaucer said. "I had no intention to provoke. Merely to mock, which is another thing entirely."

Wat growled. Roland rolled his eyes. "Come on, you two, let's get some rest, eh? You can sleep on either side of me. That way, anything happens, it'll be me in the middle."

Kate sighed, staring at the dying fire. She had no beauty, like Jocelyn, but strength, intelligence, wits.

Talking to Kate was easy, because it did not require poetry, and therefore, what he felt for her was a simple, easy thing, closer kin to friendship than to love.

Or so William liked to tell himself. He cleared his throat. "It was just a story, you know."

"Aye," said Kate. "Not even one of his betters, was it?"

"Well, I guess if you like that sort of thing, it was fine. I don't."

Kate looked at him. She had pretty eyes, had Kate. Pretty eyes and strong arms and a good head. Two out of those three were things William'd look for in a friend. "Don't what?" she asked.

"Like that sort of thing," William said. "You know, scary stories about ghosts and stuff. I don't know, I guess I just don't find them that scary."

"Yes," said Kate. "It's all rather silly, isn't it?"

"Exactly the word I was looking for."

"Who believes in ghosts, anyway?" Kate said. "Fools. Idiots. You and me, we're smarter than that."

"Well, I think Wat's just - " William hesitated. He didn't want to say that Wat had been scared, even though that might be true. _William_ had been scared, too. Still was, a little. The woods were very dark, and there were many sounds.

"Sensitive?" Kate suggested, smiling.

William smiled back. "Again, you read my mind."

"You should get some sleep, too, you know."

"Yes," said William. He had a tent of his own now, by way of a prize Roland hadn't been able to find a buyer for yet. Wat complained every time William asked him to put it up.

He'd lie down, alone, and wonder if any of the sounds he heard outside might be from something other than the birds and animals that lived in these woods.

_Of course, ghosts don't actually_ live _anywhere at all._ He shivered. _Damn Geoff and his stupid stories._

"Aye, it's getting cold, isn't it?" Kate said. "Think I'll turn in as well in a bit."

"Alone?"

Kate arched an eyebrow.

William felt himself flush. She wasn't - well, she _was_ , of course, obviously, she was, but she made it easy to forget sometimes. "I meant - you know what I meant," he said.

"If you want company, you can always ask Wat, or Roland," said Kate. "Not Chaucer, probably, unless you want him to talk you to sleep and then wake up the next morning to find him all puffed up and offended you hadn't managed to keep your eyes open in order to listen to him carry on and on."

William grinned, picturing the scene. "It's not company I want," he said. "Just some simple conversation, maybe. You know, I can tell scary ghost stories, too. Not very well, mind."

"I know some stories that'd sent you screaming out into the night," said Kate.

"Don't tell me those, please." She'd tell them well, William thought. She'd dedicate all of her focus to telling them well, the way she focused on her work, on putting a piece of metal into the fire and turning it into armor.

Nobody had yet asked about his armor, or who had made it for him. Nobody had yet taken note of how light it was, or how easily he moved in it. Perhaps they thought it was him, rather than the armor.

It seemed unfair, somehow, like how people only noticed you when you dressed as a knight and claimed to be of noble blood.

"Fine," said Kate. "I won't. Let's go, then, before I get cold, too."


End file.
